


where to start

by extra_plus_ordinary



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst probably, But also comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Nightmares, is this slowburn?, minduck, multi chapter fic, slowburn, that's right im trying this again, updates every other sunday, waynerva
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-01-20 22:55:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extra_plus_ordinary/pseuds/extra_plus_ordinary
Summary: There are no battles to plan. They have won them all.Duck and Minerva rebuild after it all.
Relationships: Minerva/Duck Newton
Comments: 29
Kudos: 64





	1. (re)turn

**Author's Note:**

> That's right kids, I'm writing a multi chap.  
I'll be updating every 2 weeks on Sundays, probably.

They choose Earth.

Well. Duck chooses Earth.

It's not a big decision for any of them-Aubrey follows Dani, Thacker follows his dreams. Mama and Vincent follow their occupations, settling back to defend their home planets from-well, nothing, anymore.

Duck just wants to go home.

He says his goodbyes to everyone, buoyed by the possibility of reuniting-but he's not holding his breath about it just yet. He thumps Vincent on the back, grinning at the goatman, this minister of defense who was too curious for his own good. He shakes hands with Thacker, thanking and congratulating one another for surviving the short while they fought together. "We'll be in touch, Duck," He says, tapping a thin finger to his temple. He doesn't doubt it.

He hugs Aubrey tight, pretending not to notice the tears pricking at the sides of her eyes. "Take care, okay?" He says softly, and she nods at him, smiling. "Don't do anything too crazy." 

"Nothing is too crazy! I'm a literal goddess!" She jokes, waving her hands to produce sparkles that settle on both their noses before blinking out. He laughs, mostly to relieve the squeezing in his chest as she grins back at him. God, she's still just a kid, and she's been through so much. He hopes life treats her well.

His laughter dies down as she hugs him again, squeezing him hard and fast. "Take care of Ned's shit, okay?" She says softly. "He'll probably haunt us forever if the Cryptonomica gets shut down."

There's a lump in his throat, but he manages a nod and a squeeze of her hand. "I'll be seeing you soon, you arsonist."

"I was a camper! I was camping!"

"Eh, matter of scale."

Aubrey laughs, and he feels his chest relax.

He turns around and sees Minerva. She's staring at the two portals, a perplexed and thoughtful look on her face. He goes up to her, reaching up and tapping her on the shoulder. "Minerva?" He says, and she turns to face him. "Yes, Wayne Newton?" She replies, her voice booming through the room. "Have you made your decision? Which world shall you choose?"

"Well, the Earth is a bit of a no brainer," He says, gesturing to the dilapidated room shimmering through the space-time-whatever rip. "I mean, I got a cat to feed, rent to pay, a job, you know?" He ticks them off with his hand, one by one. "So as cool as Sylvain is, I can stand being away from it for-uh, a while, as Billy fixes it."

(At the mention of his name Billy perks up, waving and typing out a "Tight, dude," into his voice generator.)

"Hmm! A wise and thoughtful choice, Wayne Newton!" Minerva grins, and Duck manages to smile back at her through the cringe of being called by his first name.

"And, uh, what about you, Minerva? Where you headed, hm?" He asks, and her face grows pensive again.

"Well, I _am_ drawn to Sylvain." She looks back at the portal leading to the city. "Its' architecture and magic system are quite similar to my own, you see, and is an interesting enough place for a warrior such as myself." She mirrors his previous gesture, ticking off her reasons with her six-fingered hand. All reasons to leave Earth. All reasons to leave him. 

He is not surprised-Earth can be pretty boring by anyone's standards, especially an alien's. But it doesn't stop the pang of hurt and fear that flashes through his chest. 

But then she looks at him, and her calculating expression softens, for just a moment. "However, I think I shall choose Earth, Duck Newton. I shall be coming with you." She puts a hand on his shoulder. "I think that I would much rather live in a world that has you in it." 

He gapes at her for a second, and she hurriedly adds, "And I must taste those frozen waffles once more! They are a delight!"

He chuckles softly at this. "Yeah, I'll make sure we stock up on 'em once we get home."

They smile at each other.

And then they step through the rift.

Mama drives them home, pulling up to Duck's apartment complex after making a quick pit stop for one waffle box, paid for by the loose change that miraculously did not fall out of his pocket. She puts the car in idle as they step out, looking out at the two of them from the passenger side. "Minerva, you sure you dont want to stay at Amnesty for the time being?" She asks warmly. "I ain't got much, but I do have a bed and some hot springs that ya might find to yer likin'."

"Many thanks, Madeline Cobb!" Minerva replies, and Duck sees Mama visibly wince at the use of her full name. At least she got it. "But I will be staying with Wayne Newton for tonight." 

He is not sure why she chose to stay with him, only that she did and that he preferred it that way, anyway.

Mama nods, and pulls out of the driveway.

\-------

Duck takes a shower first, which leaves Minerva to toast the waffles. She's got the hang of it now-simply rip open the packaging and place the pastry into the double slotted box that Duck calls a "toaster". She pushes the little tab down-gently,gently-and waits. She can hear the pounding of water hitting the tiles from the bathroom. She focuses on it. She'd rather focus on it that on the nothing that clouds her mind, the void where there should be planning for the next battle.

There are no battles to plan. They have won them all.

The waffles pop up.

She's spreading some Nutella on them (a heavenly condiment! what an ingenious use of modern technology!) when she hears Duck come out of the bathroom and head to his room. She looks at the waffles on her plate and, loathe to give them away, puts two new ones in the toaster.

She spreads these ones with honey (Duck's usual choice, though she is not sure why anyone would pass up Nutella) and is just about to enter his room when she hears him saying something.

She peeks in. He's lying on his bed, back towards her and phone in hand. The phone screen is lit up, dancing with colors for a moment before a face comes into focus. It's a familiar face, but not one she's seen in person. It's the face that's on the photos that litter Duck's living room, the one that's smiling with him on his phone screen. 

It's the one that she saw encased in glass, eyes closed and mouth slack as they floated in the liquid that was the organic printer.

"Hey, Janey." 

Duck's voice is soft, tired. The phone crackles before the woman-Jane, answers.

"Hey hey, Ducky." She sounds tired too. "What's up?" She yawns. "Why're you callin' at 12 AM, doofus?"

"It's 2 AM here, goofus."

"Ah, semantics." She sees Jane smile through the screen. It's very similar to Duck's, all soft with teeth just barely peeking out. "So, what's up? Wildfire or something? I heard about the blockades." Her voice shifts, sounding more awake. "Wait, is something wrong? Your signal is good, did the feds pop up a signal tower again? What's happening over there?"

"It's all good, Jane. Nothing's wrong." Even with his sister's alarm, he's still calm-relieved, even. "Just...just wanted to see your face."

A pause. Then, she hears Jane laugh nervously. "God, Duck, you give me a heart attack sometimes, checking up on me like this," she says. "I'm worried about you, you know? You never used to do this."

Duck is silent for a while, contemplative. "Do you...can you get away for a while?" He asks her, and this time his voice is soft, timid in a way Minerva has never heard him be before. "A weekend. Come visit Kepler. I...I have some things to explain." 

She agrees immediately, settling on a date two weeks from now. "I'll see you soon, Ducky," She says softly, and the screen cuts to black. 

Minerva hears Duck sigh, and the rustling of a duvet. When she peeks back in again, he is laying on his side, away from the door.

She decides to eat the waffles.


	2. (re)start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kepler's under lockdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for uploading a day late!!!! My internet crashed...and then AO3 crashed... T___T  
Hopefully the next one is up in a timely manner. Please enjoy!

The apartment is empty  when Duck wakes up.

He feels like shit-his muscles are sore, screaming with every move, and his head pulsates with a raging headache he can only assume is from all the space-time bending shit. God, that was weird. 

Then again, everything has been weird.

He's able to drag himself to the bathroom and clean himself up a bit, scrubbing away the dirt his tired self missed last night. As he makes his way to the living room, the silence strikes him as odd-living with so many people for so long, he'd forgotten how his apartment looked when it was just him in it. 

He kinda misses it-the commotion, the hubbub. It gave him something to think about. Something  _ else _ to think about.

He only remembers Minerva's presence when he picks up an Eggo box from the kitchen table. There's still 4 waffles inside, soggy from the thawed ice but still readily toastable.

He puts them in the toaster, two at a time, and waits. He hears Fig pad towards her food bowl in the distance, and is reminded that he’s nearly out of food. He should grab some soon-maybe even go on a Costco run to Harrison. Minerva needed stuff as well-clothes, at the very least. They’d have to go together. It would be her first time out of Kepler since coming here. Perhaps it would serve as a good introduction to Earth. Show her what was waiting outside, away from this quiet town. Away from him.

The waffles pop up.

He eats them all, drowning them in honey.

He's still chewing when Minerva bursts through the door. 

"Wayne Newton, I have brought us provisions and news!" She proclaims, several bags swinging from her hands. Looking out into the front hallway, he notices the lack of branding on the bag, how bulky the bags seem to be, even in Minerva's grasp.

He doesn't need to ask where she got it from. He already knows, his mind flashing to the thin Forest Ranger handbook he had to read, the one page titled "Emergency Circumstances". He thought it would come to this months ago, when Janelle broke the fucking mountain-but apparently, it takes an alien invasion for the Feds to enact this protocol. Shit.

"The FBI have informed me that this town is under temporary lockdown, and provided me with provisions!" Minerva exclaims, right as Duck groans and puts his head in his hands.

"We're under fucking lockdown." 

\-----

"So, Kepler's under lockdown," Joseph Stern says, sipping coco from a mug.

"You seem awful calm for a Fed who's supposed to be on high alert," Duck grouses, taking gulp of his own cup. After putting the free groceries away he had hightailed it with Minerva to Amnesty Lodge, using a Forest Ranger vehicle to make the trip quicker. (It was technically an infraction to use a vehicle for unrelated business during off hours, but he also technically didn't give a shit.)

"Well, I'm the only Fed who knows for sure that the danger is over right now, aren't I?" he replies with a small smile, leaning over to his right to tap his laptop. "I'm writing up a report right now to explain the whole thing, but I need to be...extremely careful with my wording." 

His smile disappears as he levels his gaze at Duck, sensing his tension. He must've know he's be coming here as soon as he heard the news, and had prepared for it.

"I'm trying to protect you, Duck," Stern says, closing his laptop. "And the Sylvain inhabitants that still live here. I want to contain the knowledge that I and a select few people are privy to, and I need time to do that. So please trust me when I say I'm working on it."

And the thing is is that he trusts Stern, he really does. Sure, he was a federal agent,but he also obviously cared for Kepler, and for Amnesty Lodge. He knew Stern wouldn’t pull one over them like that. 

But there’s a small part of Duck that wants to question him further, to remind him that he's pretty much the reason the FBI found them in the first place. He squashes those thoughts, trying not to listen to it hiss at the back of his mind. He's too drained for mistrust.

  
  


"Fine," He grunts, and Stern slumps in his chair, sighing. 

"Thank you, Duck." Stern says. "I'll make sure nothing happens to you or anyone else. Regarding the aliens you encountered-"

Duck stiffens. 

"How did you know about that."

Stern shrugs. "Barclay told me."

Barclay chooses this very moment to come in to the room, bearing a tray of sandwiches and small cookies. He sets them down in front of the two men, eyeing both of them nervously before patting Stern lightly on the shoulder and backing out of the room.

Stern continues. "I don't know the specifics, and honestly? I don't want to. I don't think our government could handle the idea of ripping a hole into one alien world, nevermind two."

"Well, you never know."

"I do. I've watched Stranger Things."  Stern bites into a cookie. "Anyway, the lockdown will be in place for a customary two weeks, but it'll most likely be a month until the scientists give up on finding remnants of the Quell. So hold tight until then." 

Duck hums in response and stands up, grabbing a sandwich and cookie before rounding the table and heading to the door. He stops in front of the doorframe and looks back at the agent. "Actually, Joseph, mind doing me two favours?"

Agent Stern turns around in his chair to face him. "Depends on the favours, but considering you're the savior of the planet, sure."

"My sister is coming in two weeks, can she get through the lockdown?"

"Hm. Considering she's a natural resident of Kepler, I suppose we can make an exception. The other favour?"

"Minerva needs documentation."

Stern stares at him for a second before pressing a palm to his forehead. "I knew I was forgetting something," he mutters. "Right. Minerva. The alien. From a third alien planet." He sighs, and jots something down in a notebook. "That one will take some time, but I'll manage."

"Thanks, Joe."

"It's Joseph."

"Sure, Jojo."

He can hear Stern sigh as he leaves the room.

\---------

"Your work is astounding, Madeline Cobb!"

Mama winces as Minerva throws her hands out and proclaims this. They're in her office slash gallery, leaving Duck downstairs to talk with Agent Stern about the lockdown business. She doesn't want to think about the lockdown right now, or how she'll need everyone to play the farce that is Amnesty Lodge for another few weeks. She doesn't even know how many people know their little secret at this point. She hopes they have enough common sense to know to keep their mouths shut. She hopes they've seen enough movies to know to keep their mouths shut. 

But for now, she's dealing with a seven foot tall woman applauding her work with enough enthusiasm to take down a horse. This, she could work with.

"Why, thank you, Minerva," She says, smiling and wiping her shaving-covered hands on her apron. "Rather nice to have other people see my work, apart from the collectors."

"Of course! It would be a waste to keep this from the general public, Madeline Cobb! You must put them on display!" Minerva stops to examine a piece resembling a flame. She'd made it out of redwood, then crystallized the peice soon after, using the refraction of the light to bring out the warmer, lighter hues of the wood. It resembles the Crystal in Sylvain, although she hadn't meant to recreate it at first. Minerva stares at it, entranced by the peice before Mama's response snaps her out of it.

"You know, I think I will do that. After the whole lockdown hullabaloo is done, I might do a little redecorating. If ya haven't noticed, the place hasn't had a facelift since the eighties."

"I hadn't noticed!"

"Yes, well, you weren't here for the eighties," She chuckles under her breath before sighing. "I'll have more time on my hands now, what with the monster hunting business being over. Might have time to take this up as a part time gig, rather than a hobby." She looks up at Minerva, who's still looking around excitedly at the wood sculptures. She’s still in the clothes she’d fought in, each tear revealing more of her muscled, scarred body. She hadn’t brought her sword-Duck’d probably stopped her-but she can see daggers strapped to her thighs and calves. A woman steeped in violence, staring at her art with the wonder of a child. It made her heart ache. 

So she asks Minerva a question.

"How about you, Minerva? What are you gonna do after all of this?"

Minerva stills, the hyperactive energy fading.

"Hm," she says. "I don't know." 

Her voice is soft, unsure and wavering. The tatoos on her forehead move ever so slightly as her eyebrows knit together, her eyes darkening. 

If Mama had known the woman better, she would have sworn she was afraid.

But she doesn't, so instead she claps her on the back, hard and strong enough to shake her. "Aw, don't worry about it too much! It's a big world, you'll find your place. We'll all help ya." She grins, and Minerva smiles back a second later. "Yes, I suppose so! Thank you, Madeline Cobb, for your gracious words."

"No problem. And please, Minerva, call me Mama."

She gets no response to that, because soon the door is opening and Minerva is calling Duck's full name.

His own wince reminds her that they're both suffering.

\--------

Later that evening, the two other Chosen Ones show up to Duck's apartment with pizza and booze. 

Leo and Sarah are vibrating with energy, talking animatedly with Minerva about their own battles. Duck is quieter, resigning to opening the pizzas and grabbing what's left of the ice cream in the freezer to share with them. 

What were they now, anyways? The Chosen Three? Not so chosen, sure, and the "big destiny" part of it was also out, but...they shared something. Common strength, he supposes, watching Sarah reenact a battle scene with a pizza slice as her weapon. 

They eat, and they drink. Leo bought the heavier stuff, and a lot of it, so they're all pretty buzzed by the time the pizza and ice cream are all gone. Sarah pops a movie into the CD player Duck still has-Aladdin, which he didn’t know he even owned-and Duck hunts for the last remnants of popcorn kernels he's sure Aubrey stashed somewhere.

When he gets back, bowl of popcorn in hand, Aladdin is maneuvering past guards with a song on his lips. Sarah and Minerva are cheering heartily in front of the screen. Leo, a bit more of a sleepy drunk, is leaning back on the sofa with a small smile. Duck places the bowl in front of the girls and sits beside him.

They're silent for a bit, right through until Jasmine and Aladdin are realizing they aren't as different as they seem. Leo speaks first, his words slurring only slightly. 

"What're you gonna do?"

Duck grunts, eyes still fixed on the screen. "'Dunno. Go back to Forest Ranger. You?" he asks, and Leo sighs, head tipping back.

"Never thought I'd end up playing grocery store guy to a podunk town."

"Yeah, well. Destiny can be a bitch, city slick."

Leo laughs at that, short and tight. "It's just...that's been most of my life, you know? Alien showed up, gave me purpose, kicked some ass, moved here, kicked more ass and now..." he trails off, looking for words and coming up empty.

"Didn't you ever think about what you'd do?” Duck presses him. “After your prophecy was over?" Leo hums.

"Not really. Didn't think I'd survive it. Thought one of those things would just finish me off. Hell, I thought I was gonna die at Green Bank." There's no bitterness in his tone, as if he was just stating facts. As if everything that had happened to him wasn't by random chance.

They stop talking for a while, right through Aladdin's venture into the lion's cave and rubbing the lamp. The Genie is about to break into song when Leo speaks-quiet, tentative. As if he's afraid someone is going to shoot him down for it.

"I'm leaving Kepler."

This time Duck turns towards him. Leo's face is pensive, a slight downturn to his lips. "I'm gonna leave," he repeats, a bit more sure of himself. "But not forever. A roadtrip, I guess. Go back to New York for a bit, and then west, perhaps. Or maybe south. I don't know," He smiles at this. "I don't know." 

Duck nods, silently, and they settle in to watch the movie.

\----------------

Ten minutes and thirty five seconds after he says this, during the ending notes of "Prince Ali", Leo Tarkesian will receive a text. He will not know the number, but the text will read: "Need a trailer?", with a photo of Indrid Cold's RV. 

Leo will smile, and reply.

"Need a job?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please follow me on tumblr, I'm @extra-plus-ordinary there!  
Next chapter will be up Dec 1 iA


	3. (re)quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality comes crashing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M FOUR DAYS LATE I KNOW. I have exams coming up (on the 7th, 10th, 11th, 17th...rip me.) AND an essay I haven't started. I also got a little depressed, so this chapter required some heavy edits as it took a bit of a more dour turn than I expected. I do want to explain where I'm going with this story, and I will in the end notes. Happy reading lovelies!

By tomorrow morning, there is a body count.

What you tend to forget, in the height of the drama, the battles, the heart-warming community-banding-together shit, is that people will still die. In fact, five of them did. 

Indrid Cold knew this. 

He puts on a black coat before leaving the trailer, trading his trademark red glasses for dark tinted ones instead. It was a sad day-he might as well show it.

Their funerals are all done together, bringing in the whole town once more into Kepler's church. Its massive enough to hold the 300 some folk that trail in, varying in degrees of sadness and injury from the last fight. The family of those departed were at the front, thanking people for coming and accepting the small gifts people had managed to scrounge up-food, mostly, but some brought money, others quilts.

Indrid sits at the back, perching at the edge of a pew next to the doors. He'd never done this before-social gatherings were never his scene, even on Sylvain. But here, now, in Kepler-he felt like he owed these people something. His life, obviously. His secret, most likely-in midst of battle, there had to have been those who had glimpsed his human form, and if they were sharp, guessed his skill.

So he sits there, leg tapping nervously as humans murmur and clutch each other around him. He catches eyes and returns small smiles, accepting the slight head nods and ducked faces as  _ hellos _ and  _ thank yous _ . 

And then Duck arrives. 

He doesn't stand out in the crowd, dressed in a black button up and dark jeans. His hair is parted in the middle, which is new; most likely going for a more serious look, given the circumstances. Not everyday you go to a mass funeral, full of those who fought when you failed and those who paid for it. 

Now, he doesn't think this is Duck's fault. But Duck does, and it's written all over his face when he walks into the room and moves towards Indrid. He moves over to accommodate him, patting the seat and smiling wanly at him. And then moves over some more, receiving a returning smile from Minerva, who has also appeared behind Duck.

Somehow, they've found the woman a black blouse that can fit her, barely stretching over her muscles that flex with every step. A black skirt sways over her sandaled feet as she sits, looking about the church in curiosity. Duck greets Indrid quietly, then turns his attention to the priest climbing the podium.

As the sermon starts, the moth man finds himself looking at Minerva. She's mimicking Duck's movements, confusion and interest flickering across her face. Indrid never really understood religion on Earth. He studied it, sure; he's pretty much memorized the written history of humans at this point. To see what must have been his initial reaction on another-well, that was refreshing.

(Duck is another matter. A matter that's not his to deal with, but a matter all the same.)

The sermon finishes, and the eulogies begin. They're all short, sweet, sorrowful and filled with vague descriptions of their deaths. He doesn't look at Duck through this, unwilling to see gritted teeth and haunted eyes. Minerva is holding his hand. 

The last of the bereaved steps down, and the procession begins, people filing out behind the caskets. Duck moves to follow, and Minerva does too, but she looks back at Indrid and pauses. She lets Duck go, sharing a look with him before sitting back down with the Sylvan. Duck leaves with the humans, and they're left alone in an empty church. 

Indrid goes first.

"I suppose you have some questions about human religion and rituals."

She doesn't look surprised at this, and nods.

"But that's not what you're going to ask me about, is it? You have a bigger question in mind."

She nods, unflinching. "If I may be so bold, Indrid Cold," she starts, and there's a ring of reverence in her tone. "I would like to inquire about my future."

Indrid smiles. 

"No."

Now she flinches, startled by the casual rejection before trudging on. "I implore you to rethink your decision. I am, as of now, unmoored from what I believed was my final destiny. I have no ward to protect nor prophesy to fulfill. I simply do not know what to do with the rest of my time."

"So you want me to tell you?"

"Exactly!"

"Hm. No." he says, and his tone is not unkind. "I don't think I will."

She goes still, silent as the echo of his voice disperses through the church. The humans are well on their way now; one of them will trip on a cemetary rock in about a minute. Minerva is unarmed. Indrid is thin, still weak from battle. There is exactly one future that doesn't end well for him.

He says, softly, "I know you are tired, Minerva." She does not lose her stillness, but her eyes flick towards him, blinking. He continues. "I know that prophecy is what led you here, and prophecy is what kept you going for this long. But not everything is prophesied. Not everything needs to be."

She is still staring at him. He knows the questions she wants to ask, knows that he cannot answer them; for her sake, mostly.

( He's also doing this for Duck, but no one needed to know that.)

"The gift of life is not knowing what comes next. Do you remember that feeling?" She moves this time, the tiniest shake of her head. He smiles, looking down at her fisted hands and putting one of his own on top. "I think it's time you did."

She leaves the church before him, whispering a thank you as she steps away from the pew. He waves her off, leaning back on the wooden pew as the door creaks slowly shut behind her.

He is left alone, sunlight turning kaleidoscopic through stained glass, stone angels smiling above him as dust mites catch the rainbow reflection.

Churches, he muses, could be quite peaceful.

\-----

Minerva is standing in front of the apartment complex when Duck arrives. She greets him heartily, slapping him on the back when he gets near, but there's a look in her eyes that worries him. 

He's not one to talk, though. His reflection had caught his eye when he was walking past a window shop; bloodshot eyes and a downturned mouth that made him look as if he'd been awake for a week straight.

All because of...this.

He'd been stopped multiple times during the funeral procession. Most people had thanked him, others had inquired about his health. His old high school history teacher had seen him. He'd looked him up and down and said, with an air of pity he wasn’t sure he deserved, "Don't blame yourself for this."

There's a part of him that wants to follow his advice. He knows that the citizens of Kepler don't blame him for bringing the Quell to them, that they prepared to handle the onslaught as best as they could. 

But there's also a part of him that hisses this didn’t have to happen. That he could have been faster, smarter,  _ crueler _ ; then no one would have had to suffer. 

That voice sounds suspiciously like Beacon.

Nevertheless, he pastes on a smile and opens the door to the apartment. Fig is waiting for them, swishing her tail and meowing loudly as they step through the threshold.

"Hungry, bud?" Duck leans down and scratches her ears, causing the cat to purr. "I'll get ya something to eat."

He heads to the kitchen, rooting around a cupboard until he finds a packet. "Dry food for today, Fig," He says, pouring a rather generous amount into her dish. Fig meows balefully, but eats anyway. He laughs softly, stroking her back for a moment as she eats.

He stands, and sees Minerva watching him. He tries to not feel too unnerved by this; she has a tendency to hyperfocus on things sometimes, though its usually during strategy meetings or battle. It's weird, having someone's full attention on you when you haven't done anything to deserve it.

But that was Minerva for you. He smiles at her—an attempt at lightness. "You must be hungry. Want some pasta? I can make a mean  _ algo de olio _ ." He doesn't wait for a response, moving into the kitchen and fishing out ingredients. "Have you had pasta yet? I think we've only eaten party size food since you've been here, what with the crowd and all. I know you like pizza, so I think you might like pasta too. They're both Italian...I think."

"I think I'd like that, Duck Newton," Minerva says, softly. (Soft for her, anyway.)

"Great! Great, great..."

He grabs a pot and fills it with water. While its heating up, he decides to start sorting the bags of food the FBI had given them-mostly non perishables, but some fruits, veggies and herbs that go in the fridge. Its busywork, but it's something to keep him occupied all the same.

(His mind is still back at those five graves.)

He decides to start talking.

"So Stern said we're stuck in Kepler until the lockdown ends. The Forest Ranger Service is also suspended until then, so I've also got fuck all to do 'round here. I was thinkin', maybe we should help folks rebuild." He chops up some parsley as he says this, pushing it to the side. "The Quell took out a few buildings, and I'm pretty sure insurance doesn't cover extraterrestrial damage, so I think people are gonna need all the help they can get."

(He tries not to think about how the Quell arriving was technically his fault.)

"We're pretty strong, so I think we can do a fair bit of work. I have to say, I didn't think I'd be a construction worker after saving the world, hm?" He chuckles, salting the water. It's at this moment that he looks over at Minerva.

She's sitting on the couch, elbows on her thighs, eyes fixated on the floor in front of her. She's still, so impossibly still that he's immediately reminded of a corpse."Minerva?" Duck calls to her tentatively, waving his parsley knife in the air to grab her attention. "Minnie, you good?"

Minerva's eyes lock onto his. 

For a second, he sees it; the confusion, anxiety and guilt. 

It's like looking into a mirror.

Then, she blinks, and a smile (fake, fake like his own) crosses her face.

"Apologies, Duck Newton. I seem to have been preoccupied in my own thoughts," She says, her voice wavering at the beginning before solidifying into something remotely cheerful. "Tell me, what did you mean to say about buildings?"

"Um. Buildings? Building. Building! Yeah, uh, want to help rebuild some shit tomorrow? If you're free? I mean are you free? I'm free. Are you free?" 

He's babbling. He doesn't babble unless he's lying. He's not lying.

This is weird.

Minerva, to her credit, just nods. "I would enjoy that, Duck Newton!" she says, and begins to ask questions about building styles.

It's like someone flipped a switch; she's animated, gesturing wildly as she talks. He's quietly amused, answering her questions as in depth as he can and peppering in jokes to keep her entertained.

(He's still back at the church, staring down into caskets.)

The water begins to boil, and he dumps some linguini in. 

The pasta isn't bad. Minerva finds it delicious, finishing off two plates in ten minutes. They keep the conversation going for as long as they can, awkwardly avoiding today's events and everything that came with it. There is a tension here, one that causes them to tiptoe around each other, to put on faces of strength. They've won, after all. 

So why doesn't it feel like it?

Duck stands, collecting the dishes from the table. "I'm just gonna rinse these off and call it a night," he says, turning back towards his small kitchen. "We've got a long day ahead of us. Some volunteers are meeting up at eight to scope out the damage. I want to be there to see."

Minerva nods. "Of course, Wayne Newton. I shall see you in the morning." She waves at him as she disappears into the guest room.

(And he's alone again, with corpses preying on his mind. He wonders if it'll be like this when he's gone.)

He heads to bed as well, staring at Jane's number for a good five minutes before putting his phone away and going to bed.

\------

He dreams that he's standing among tombstones.

She dreams that she's standing in an empty city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan for this story is to explore Duck and Minerva's headspaces after the events of Amnesty. I'm a big proponent of angst, so I want to show the darker parts of conflict a bit. I also want to talk about destiny, fulfilling prophecies, survivors guilt, etc.
> 
> When Amnesty ends, Minerva has left her desolate home to come to Earth. We can tell she is very driven person by the way Griffin characterizes her, but she is driven by the end goal. What happens after the end? I feel like Minerva hasn't really fully realized and accepted the fact that her home is gone-she threw herself into helping other planets. Does she think about the people she left? The people she fought with and for? Now that she doesn't isnt sleeping due to exhaustion, do they come to haunt her dreams? 
> 
> Duck has only now come to terms with his destiny. I don't think he'll come to regret it NOW, but he has seen (and lost) quite a bit during Amnesty. He's a very calm person, but one of his friends is dead and he didn't even have time to really process it due to the FBI literally coming crashing in. He very nearly lost Aubrey, and what's interesting is that he's barely gotten hurt through all of Amnesty. I think that he sees everyone around him falling except him, and that's a very interesting case of survivors guilt. So I want to explore that. I also want to note that he's gotten more prone to outbursts and anger closer to the end of Amnesty, and I want to give a reason for it (I have an idea ;) )
> 
> So please stay tuned for good good angst!!!
> 
> Please follow me at @extra-plus-ordinary on tumblr!!!  
Next update will be on December 15th, hopefully, but may come later. Probably after the 17th.


	4. (re)build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are cracks in Kepler that need fixing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I late? I think I'm late. But this is a long chapter so you can't get mad okay

The Lynde house, as it's known to be called, isn't doing so great.

The southern side of Kepler happened to be closest to the gate, when the Quell managed to breach into the town proper. Many of their defenses were stationed there during the fight; the Lynde house was actually used as a trap by the Shadow Brethren, luring a good chunk of the monsters in before picking them off from the house's disgustingly high rafters.

So when the fire broke, it was… unexpected. Although Duck is pretty sure a cigar was involved. 

The house was fixable; they would have to spend a good two days clearing rubble and burnt wood, but after that it was a matter of simply reinstalling certain fixtures and giving it a paint job. The group of volunteer workers assembled–mostly middle aged folks, along with a few older men who were familiar with construction–begin to divvy up tasks for the next few days. Duck and Minerva, as expected, were tasked with clearing up the living room and dining area, where most of the heavier rubble and debris were.

They're about to head in when the sound of a motor cuts through the quiet morning. Before long, they can see the source–a group of motorists, careening through the empty road before turning into the Lynde house driveway. They're all wearing their signature jackets, and Duck walks up to greet them as they turn off their engines and hop off.

Hollis gets to him first, giving the ranger a quick salute. "'Sup, hero?" they drawl, and Duck can't help but grin through his tiredness. 

"Just getting ready to start on some repairs to the old Lynde house."

"Mind if we join?" Keith comes up behind Hollis, throwing a casual arm around them. " Don't have much to do with the fucking cops around all the time."

"I don't think the FBI will care about stopping your motorcycle stunts."

"Oh, but they do care that I slid my motorcycle into their tents and set them on fire." Keith says, and grins savagely at Duck's slightly horrified expression. "You said we were a distraction, boss. Turned out great in the end, didn't it?"

"Only if you don't end up on their Most Wanted list, kid," Duck sighs, but turns to wave the group over. "Larry! We’ve got some new volunteers!" He calls up to the head construction officer, who comes back with a clipboard and slightly disapproving look.

"Alright, kids, gather 'round and let me get your names.” He grunts, tapping the clipboard impatiently. “Any of you have any experience?"

A few hands go up–Duck picks out Dan, who interned at a construction company the summer before, and Jerry, who was studying architecture–or at least, that's what his mother told him the last time he had the misfortune of running into her at the supermarket. He's not even sure if she knows he's a part of the Hornets.

As Larry starts to give the new group assignments, Hollis pulls Duck aside.

"I have to ask, Duck, as much as I appreciate having something to give my crew to do, why are we doing this?" They ask. "I mean, the Lynde house is a  _ timeshare. _ "

"And since when did different owners at different times ever stop the good people of Kepler from extending some goodwill?"

"Ever since they stopped coming? I mean, come on, Mister Newton," Hollis says, gesturing towards the burnt house. "The last time anyone used this place was to throw an after prom party."

“And if God is good, there’ll still be some booze left from it,” Duck deadpans, and Hollis snorts. They have bags under their eyes that Duck does not care for at all. 

(They are much too similar to his own.)

"But to be answer your question, Hollis, I'm pretty sure everyone is here for the same reason your gang is. To take our mind off things." Hollis does not meet his gaze, but Duck claps him on the shoulder anyway. "Now then, let's get you to work. How much do you lift?"

\---

Hollis did not, in a manner of speaking, lift.

While riding a motorcycle and doing stunts did count as an athletic activity, it required more grace – finesse, if you will – than muscle. And while the rest of the group were various levels of jacked, all of Hollis's assets went towards speed, flexibility, and charisma.

So Larry relegated them to do "survey work"; which in all realness just meant climbing the walls and figuring out what needed to be fixed–finding the hidden cracks, the broken bits that weren't apparent in daylight.

The rafters were big–made out of thick, long logs that would have made the Lorax weep with disappointment. Some of them looked like toothpicks now, all charred and thinned due to the fire. It was Hollis's job to see if any of the "intact" beams had taken damage. 

Fire was tricky that way -- it looked devastating from the outside, and was sure to leave scars where clean surfaces had once been. But it was also precise, and often left invisible damage. Sometimes a structure could seem perfectly fine, until someone put weight on the wrong spot and the whole thing collapsed.

Hollis is able to swing up onto a wooden beam from the top ledge of the staircase. This one seems fine; its silent and sturdy even as they put their full weight on it. The beams aren't wide, but Hollis manages to balance easily enough; gymnastics was the one after school program Kepler was able to afford, and they took it for eight years. 

They inspect the beam as they walk, unfazed by the near thirty foot drop below. They can feel eyes on them; Keith, probably, and some of the other Hornets, looking up from their scavenging and tossing to see their leader walking a wooden wire. They're not  _ supposed _ to be alarmed by this; Hollis' staple stunts are all about balance, heights are their  _ thing.  _ But even from this distance they can make out furrowed brows, pained frowns and worried eyes. 

They ignore it. They have a job to do, after all. They make it to the other side of the beam, inspecting it the whole way through. They cross onto the next beam, and this one is also sturdy, although smudges of ash do line the corners where it meets the roof. They would have to tell Larry about it.

They jump to the next beam, and this one does not creak. 

It  _ snaps. _

There's a second where Hollis doesn't know what's happening. And then movement catches up with sound and the wood beneath them is gone, slipping out from under them as it gives way under their weight.

They are falling.

They hear Keith scream.

It's like they're back there again, in the dark. Keith is screaming, and so are they, and so is everyone else, becauseTim is gurgling and –

and Bev is wheezing and there's just so much blood  _ everywhere _ and –

they're dying, oh god, they're both dying, and Hollis is sure they're going to die too. They're going to die, aren't they? They're going to fall, and splatter, and it's going to hurt, it's going to hurt so bad, and they don't –

they don't want to –

_ I don’t want to die _ –

And suddenly it stops.

They open their eyes (when did they close?), and see Minerva.

\---

The child is shaking.

Minerva notices this off the bat; she'd swooped in to catch them, jumping off a table to meet them in midair and soften the impact. They were safe, they were sound, they were shaking and Minerva didn't know why.

She is surrounded before she can ask. The child's friends call to them (“Hollis, Hollis are you alright, Hollis?!”) and they respond that they're all right, but their chest is heaving and their words are labored and quiet. There is a look in their eye that Minerva does not like. 

"I am going to set the child outside for a breather!" She says, stepping through the crowd towards the door. Duck emerges from one of the hallways with a wheelbarrow, looking quizzically at the scene in front of him before zeroing in on the broken beam and the child in Minerva's arms. He nods at her, and calls to the Hornets to "Get back to work, guys!", allowing her to make an exit unaccosted. 

She sets the child down, watching them try and steady themselves on their legs before sinking to the ground, bracing themselves on the porch railing. They stay like this for a while, Minerva standing over Hollis as they even out their breathing.

"Well," they say after a while, running a hand through their hair shakily, "I almost died there."

"You most certainly did not, child," Minerva chides them. "That fall would have at most cost you a bone! Perhaps two, if you were unlucky."

"Well it fucking  _ felt  _ like it," they snap at her, and she recoils. They pause, then look back up at her sheepishly. "Sorry, miss. It's just been...one hell of a year.".

"Perhaps you can tell me about it, then!" she says, taking a seat next to them on the wooden porch. "I have only been here for a month and a half, you know!"

Hollis gives her a flicker of a smile before looking ahead. 

"A few months ago... we learned about the abominations. What they were, what they could do. And we only learned about them because they attacked us." 

The child is shaking again. They're small, Minerva notices, much smaller than some of their colleagues, and yet everyone seems to view them as an authority. 

"They were trying to take the form of a vampire, I think," they continue, raising their palms to their cheeks as if expecting something to be there.

"It moved so quickly– we didn't even know what it was until it was halfway over. It got Tim first."

Their breath hitches at the name.

"Bit into his neck. He didn't even scream, he had no time to. Then it lunged at Bev. She screamed, but– not for long. We didn't even have the chance to process their deaths before they were gone. By the time we'd had their funerals, Keith had told us about the Bom-Boms, and we were all so  _ angry _ that we just... threw ourselves at the challenge. With that gone... I can feel the anger slippin', you know? And I just miss them. I miss Tim and Bev."

They look up at her, then, eyes bright and reflecting the midday sun like silver mirrors. "I'm sorry, Miss Minerva. Don't mean to unload on you like this. M'usually able to keep it together, a bad fall notwithstanding." They try for another smile. It's lopsided, their right dimple quivering with effort. 

Minerva crouches down hugs them. 

She's only seen a few demonstrations of human sympathy before; right now she's drawing on Duck and Aubrey, right after they'd both come back from Greenbank and heard of Ned's death. Aubrey had been inconsolable, and Duck had just embraced her, letting her sob into his jacket. 

(Duck had never cried. Minerva had never asked.)

Hollis freezes as she wraps her arms around them, but slowly, ever so slowly, they relax, and with it the tears begin to flow. They cry softly, shoulders shaking in her tight grasp as she holds them closer. 

She does not trust her tongue in such a delicate moment. She just lets them cry, and hopefully that's enough. 

The crying turns into sniffly whimpering, and in a few minutes Hollis is silent, still in Minerva's hold. For a second, she wonders if she's killed them, but then they draw back from her, their reddened face still sheepish but grateful. "Thank you, Miss Minerva.'Suppose I needed that release, though I won't impose on your company for much longer."

"It's quite alright, Hollis of-the-Hornets." Minerva grins at them, which somehow makes the redness on their cheeks worse. "Although I would suggest you start communicating your feelings with your guild. They seem to care about you very much. Cherish that."

Hollis stares at her for a moment before looking down at the ground again. “Even leaders need to lean on their followers sometimes, hm?” She says, and they nod slightly. “I’ll think about it,” they mumble, but she’d pretty sure that’s human for  _ Yes. _

\---

"Stop your glancin', Keith. Someone's gonna hit you in the head."

Duck watches as a Hornet comes through with a burnt end of a table, hooking a right and nearly taking Keith's turned head another 180 degrees. He yelps and glares at his teammate, who gives him a grimace and jogs away. 

Sighing, he turns back to where Duck is sitting on a decently sized boulder. It wasn't there before; he'd been carrying it outside before spotting Keith trying to catch a glimpse of Hollis outside. Touching, really, how much the boy cared.

"Worried about Hollis?" Duck asks, and Keith just sighs again. 

"Is it that obvious?" 

"You've been looking at them the entire day."

"To be fair, it was pretty high up-"

"No, before that. Is there something wrong?" Duck could think of a hundred things that could be wrong.

Keith regards him for a moment, then squats down beside the boulder. "I'm just worried for them," he mutters softly. "Even after what happened with Tim and Bev," ( _ your fault, your fault, _ Duck's mind sings) "They never really...cried? Or reacted? I know they're probably just tryna keep a cool face in front of the gang, but come on! That isn't healthy, right?" He looks at Duck, who nods affirmatively. ( _ Hypocrite. _ )

"We kinda had an impromptu meeting, after all that shit went down. We decided to protect Kepler. But we also decided to protect each othet...so we wouldn't shut each other out. But Hollis is still acting like they have to shoulder everything." Keith looks down at his hands. "I just want them to know that they're not alone, you know? They can come to us and like, scream or cry. We're here for each other." 

Duck looks down at him.

"You've grown a lot, haven't you?" He says, and Keith squints at him, confused. Duck puts what he hopes to be a warm hand on the Hornets' shoulder. "From what I can tell, you're doing a mighty fine job watching out for your friend. They'll talk to you soon. No one can hold it in forever, right?" He smiles at Keith, who manages to return one in kind. 

"Now, would you mind getting back to work?"

Keith stands, dusting himself off before ducking into another room. For a second, the room is empty– just Duck, a boulder, and a dark, pitiful feeling curling around his chest. 

And then Minerva returns, and so does his smile. He strains to keep the mood light as they wrap up the rest of the day. The Hornets leave before dark to appease their worried families, waving at Duck and Minerva as they rumble away. The rest of the group disperses in their own time, complaining about strained muscles and need of sleep. Duck and Minerva leave last, and Larry nods to him before they go.

"Didn't know you were such a beast, Newton," he grunts, jerking his head towards the pile of debris piling up outside. "With you and your girlfriend on board, we could finish cleaning the house in three days."

"Not my girlfriend, but that's great," he deadpans, ignoring the chuckles from the older man. "When will the stuff for rebuilding come in?"

"Usually takes a fortnight, but I'm gonna see if these FBI fools can be duped into giving us supplies for free since I ain't too keen on paying out of pocket for this. After all," Larry says, taking a sip from the flask attached to his belt. "the Lynde house is a  _ fucking  _ timeshare."

Duck sighs comically. "Goodwill is dead."

"Capitalism killed it."

\---

Duck cooks that night. "It's called chicken fried rice," he tells Minerva as she watches from the kitchen entrance. "Although I still have to cook it." 

She does not get the joke. He doesn't expect her to. It's just nice to say.

They eat in relative silence, too exhausted from the day's labor to try at any niceties. He does the dishes while she washes up, and then he does too. He passes her room as he heads to bed, peeking in to whisper, "Goodnight," before ducking into his own room.

He closes his eyes.

\---

The nightmare begins.

This time he's in the Hornet's Nest. It's dark – the dead of night, with only the moon to see by through the high windows. The  _ full _ moon. 

He can hear someone breathing. 

Not breathing – wheezing, as if every inhale and exhale is costing them something. A moan, then a voice, whispery and thin. 

_ Help me. _

Duck’s feet are moving on their own accord, walking ever so slowly to where the voice is emanating from. He can make out a dark shape, crumpled onto the ground. A body, lying on its stomach. 

_ Help me. _

He falls to his knees, the damp of the ground seeping into his pants as he tries to turn the body over to it's back. "Don't worry, buddy," he hears himself saying, "We'll get you some help, I know some-"

Their pale face catches the moonlight.

"Tim?"

_ Help me. _

Tim wheezes, and blood seeps out through his leather jacket, coating the already bloody ground around him. Duck has seen enough blood pools to know that it's too late for him –  _ was  _ too late for him. 

_ Help me. _

"I…"

Duck cannot find words to say. Tim does.

_ You said you could help me. Why can't you help? _

Tim's hand reaches up to cover Duck's own on his bloodied chest.  _ You said you would protect us,  _ he whispers softly, the kind of soft only the dying can reach.  _ Why didn't you protect us? _

"I– I didn't, we– we didn't  _ know– " _

Tim's eyes go blank. His hand slackens in Ducks’, and the warmth in his body disappears as the corpse's does.

He does not know how long he kneels there, letting Tim's blood soak through his pants and stain his arms.

And then he wakes up.

\---

Minerva finds Duck sitting at the dining table with a cup in one hand and a teabag in the other.

"Are you not able to sleep, Wayne Newton?" she asks tentatively, and he jumps at the sound of her voice. 

"Minerva! What are you doing awake?" he rasps, squinting at her through the darkness of the apartment. "It's like, one in the morning."

"I could ask the same of you, my friend." She strides over to him, taking the chair across his own. "You are – how do you say it?–it's the pot, calling the kettle dirty."

"Calling the kettle black, but close enough." Duck sighs, looking down at his hands in surprise before dunking the tea bag into the mug. "Just restless, I guess. Maybe I put instant coffee in the sauce we had for dinner. It wouldn't be the first time." He chuckles, but his eyes are downcast, staring into his drink.

If Minerva had known him better, she would have said he looked scared.

But she doesn't, so she keeps quiet, allowing herself to slip into her own thoughts. Duck watches her for a moment before standing, walking into the kitchen and pouring another cup of hot water from the kettle. 

"I have some chamomile left over from Dani, if you'd like some," he says, fishing a tea bag from one of the cabinets. "She doesn't really need it now, so..."

"Ah, is that the plant that is supposed to help with nerves?" she says, and Duck hums in the affirmative, returning to the table with the mug, which she accepts gratefully. 

"She never could sleep soundly here. I was worried she'd burn the apartment down due to stress. Dani was a lifesaver with the tea. Among other things." He laughs, tapping Minerva's hand on the table. "Remember when we caught Dani and Jake tryna get into the apartment from the window?"

Minerva smiles and turns her hand over, trapping Duck's fingers in her wide palm. The tips of his fingers are hard and calloused; but they are warm, and her touch seems to be welcome. 

"They are children," she says finally. "They are rambunctious, and wild, and full of life. And questionable ideas."

Duck's hand tenses, and he looks away, taking a sip from his cup. "They shouldn't have been involved in this," he says quietly, and she is not sure of the scale by which he means  _ this. _ "Kids shouldn't have to lose the people important to them, or make life risking decisions."

There it is. The implied guilt that is sowed in each broken house, in each fresh tombstone. The reminder of what Reconciliation meant to destroy – and what Minerva wasn't able to stop in time. She glances at Duck's sidelong profile, his eyes shuttered and face drawn. 

She is not good at this.

"That is what fate decided," she says finally. "We are not free from it's constraints, so we must rise to the challenge."

"I think I've already told you that fate's a bitch."

"You have."

He falls silent. And so she holds his hand and sips her tea until she sees him lay his head down on the table, and soon enough he is asleep, one hand firmly grasping her own.

She does not sleep. She cannot bear to see the young in her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be, hopefully, January 5th?
> 
> Yell at me on tumblr I'm @extra-plus-ordinary


	5. (re)cord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck visits an old friend. Minerva has a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY EARLY VALENTINES MY GUYS.
> 
> I'm sorry for the hiatus, I'm not going through the Best Time in uni, but we back. Not sure how often or how regularly I will post anymore, But! I ! Will! Try!

Kepler's cemetery was going through quite a growth spurt. 

Historically there would be one or two funerals a year - not surprising, considering the slowly aging population. It was expected. Not terribly good for business, but expected.

And so when several bodies began making their way to the tiny morgue within a few months of each other, the funeral director became a little frazzled.

And by frazzled, it meant that Duck had to spend a good fifteen minutes combing through headstones to find Ned's grave. The receptionist at the mortuary- some seasonal hire, judging by the politeness and lack of useful information- had said that Ned Chicane was buried at the East end of the cemetery. 

He was not.

See, Duck did not go to Ned's funeral.

It's not like he'd  _ meant _ to miss it; but in between the aftermath of the mountain breaking, Mama's detention by the FBI and the rush to hide all the Sylvans, it's not like he had the time to put on a suit and recite a eulogy. He'd had a job to do, and not much time to do it.

But missing Ned's funeral had meant missing Ned's burial, which also meant he had no  _ fucking  _ clue where to find him.

Even in death, the man was evasive.

He finds him on the north end of the plot. He's the newest edition by a long shot-the gravestone beside him was dated in the 1920s; an Edmund Hopper. The flowers on Ned's grave had ended up spilling over to his plot.

Duck looks at his own bouquet and tosses it to Hopper before sitting, cross-legged in front of Ned's headstone.

_ Edmund "Ned" Kelly Chicane _ , it read.

_ May 15, 1957- February 14, 2019. _

Under that, one word.

_ Protector. _

He stares at the word for a long time.

And then, he speaks.

"They got your birthday wrong, Ned."

His voice is soft, almost a whisper.

"We celebrated your birthday in August, remember? Barclay drove out to buy fireworks. Aubrey lit them all with her fingers. We even got Costco cake from Harrison." His lips twitch up slightly. 

"You had a false ID on you even then, huh. Very on-brand, Chicane."

The grass under his khakis is still wet with dew, the dampness beginning to stick to his skin. He does not move.

"God. I could have corrected it. The date. I should have made sure they had the right one. I should have been there."

He puts his head in his hands. His fingers, too, are wet with dew, and it mixes with the tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry Ned. I really am." 

He does not get an answer.

\---

Later, he realizes that Ned's grave was placed in the correct plot. The cemetery was on the same road as the Trailer Park, placing it west of the Greenbrier River, and south of the town's entrance. South of the Cryptonomica.

\---

The chimes above the Cryptonomica sound as Duck enters the little shop. It’s unchanged from the last time he stepped foot in here, aside from a few slightly cracked glass cases. There is also someone new standing at the back of the cash register, staring down at a laptop screen intently.

“Kirby,” Duck says, and he jumps.

“ _ Jesus Christ.” _

“Nope, wrong guy.” Duck grins as the color begins to return to the man’s face. “Just wanted to check in on the shop.”

“It’s a museum, you know.”

“I literally saw Ned sell the Jersey Devil’s tail for four hundred dollars.”

“That’s besides the point.” Kirby shuts his laptop and straightens, cracking his back with a grunt. “How’s it been with you?”

Duck shrugs. It’s been a week and a half since the battle, and his life had in no way returned to normal. His job was on hold as Agents combed the surrounding forest for any sign of the Quell, and it wasn’t like he could leave, either. He was stuck, and in more ways than one.

“Pretty good, I guess.” he says. “How about you? You inherited the Cryptonomica, right?” 

Kirby hums in affirmative, walking out from the cash register. “Still can’t believe he’d just...leave all of this to me.“ he says. “I was totally sure he would have left it to some family members.” 

Ned had never spoken about family. Duck wonders if any of them were aware that he had moved to Kepler, or even that he was dead. 

“You were the natural pick,” He says instead, peering into a random glass case filled with teeth. “You pretty much ran the shop whenever we went hunting. I’m sure he knew he would be leaving it in good hands.” 

Kirby doesn’t answer him. Duck turns, unnerved by his sudden silence, and sees him staring down at the register.

“I just,” Kirby stops, breathes, and starts again. 

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, you know? It was all so..sudden. I mean, I knew he was doing dangerous shit every month, but that’s not what got him in the end. I miss him. Even when he was being a bit of a bastard.”

Silence. Duck can see Kirby trying to rein in his emotions, to look strong for the other man. He's thankful for it; he's not sure if he could muster up the strength to support another person. 

"Anyway!" Kirby claps his hands together, as if trying air the gloom out. "Do you want to check if you left something in the Inner Sanctum?" He's moving before Duck can answer, leading him to the back of the shop. 

The Sanctum is messier than usual. Kirby had lugged everything back from Boyd Moshe's hotel room in the van-- at least, everything the FBI didn't take for 'evidence'. Duck surveys the scene, picking up a golden sphere from a shelf.

"Isn't this the (find smth from wiki) Ned stole?" Kirby glances at it from behind his shoulder and nods. "Why is it still here? I thought the Feds took all of the important shit."

"They classified it as a fake." Kirby points to some odd objects around the room. "Most of the shit Ned stole was never properly registered as stolen. I just told them that he had a penchant for getting replicas of stuff, and they took it from there." 

Duck whistles in appreciation. "Sharp of you, Kirby."

"Yeah, well, when you got a boss who has a secret room and goes off every now and then to do God knows what, you tend to get good at misdirection."

He doesn't sound bitter about it. 

Duck pokes around for a while, looking for something (something sharp, something wicked, something cruel) yet nothing at the same time. He fishes out a camcorder, one that he's seen set up on a tripod in the Cryptonomica on Friday nights.

It occurs to him that Ned likes to pre-record his television appearances.

He flips it open. The camcorder is nearly dead, but it flickers on and lets him see the one clip that's still in the 'Videos' section. 

He can't press play.

He calls Kirby over though, who does. The audio is too low to hear, but he can tell by the man's face that it's a new one.

"I don't know when he had time for this," Kirby breathes, already moving out of the Sanctum, towards his computer. "Usually we record together so I can help with the lighting and stuff. What was going  _ on? _ " 

The question is pointed enough for Duck to stop in his tracks, thinking.

"I'm not particularly sure." He says. "I know he was going through some shit with his past, and I know that Aubrey was involved. I never knew what Ned was thinkin'. But near the end...he seemed like he was trying to atone for things I didn't know about."

The Cryptonomica goes silent, Kirby's computer fan whirring softly in the background.

"Yeah." Kirby says finally. "Yeah, I get it."

\---

Minerva dreams she is back home.

She's in the Observation and Communication Tower in Bltiz, the one she spent the most time in before moving to Malvik. She hadn't wanted to leave, but her resources were dwindling, and she'd needed more supplies for her communication device anyway. She'd ended up staying a whole month after her self-imposed deadline, watching the twin suns set behind the ombre waves. She dreams she is back there now, feeling the wavering heat of the sunset on her bare arms and face.

Of course, she isn't alone.

"Hello, Minerva," Daruk says. 

He's sitting beside her, dangling his legs over the tower railing. As her former pupil and current subordinate, she really should be admonishing him from his carelessness.

"Hello, Daruk," She says instead.

Daruk isn't real. She'd realized this quickly enough; he had died in her arms, after all. So to see him, healthy and relatively happy, was all she needed to understand that she had begun to hallucinate. She'd gone two months without any interaction; it was bound to occur.

The company was still nice.

"How's Earth?" Daruk asks. They're speaking in their native tongue, with rolling consonants and throaty vowels. "Did you save it?"

"I did not do much in the way of saving." She replies, and Daruk hums.

"I suppose retaining life is not part of your skillset."

He grins at her, even as she frowns. "So, did your chosen humans accomplish your task for you?" 

"They did indeed. We were able to identify and locate the interfering planet, and put an end to their- _ Reconciliation Project. _ " 

"Good, good. No other planet deserves to have their survival depending on another's will." 

Daruk swings his legs again, this time with enough force to nearly throw himself off the railing, holding himself back with the strength of his arms. He loved to do dangerous stunts like this, especially those that showed off his strength and coordination. It's why she picked him to train the new recruits; to infect them with his daredevil personality.

He would have had a  _ time  _ with the Hornets.

They are silent again, watching the sun sink below the sea. The moon is out today, a point of light hanging in the inky black sky, bathing them in blue.

When Daruk speaks, there is a change.

"Are you going to stay there?"

His voice sounds pinched. She sighs, leaning on the railing with him. "I do not have the means to return," she says evenly, trying to sound as rational as she can for her own sake. "So I could not, even if I wanted to."

"You do not deserve this."

Daruk turns to face her, and his eyes are dead. "You do not deserve this," he repeats, and wounds-- _ his  _ wounds, the ones she had tried to bandage and tourniquet--begin to slowly open on his body. "Not after everything you've done."

"I know." She says softly, and feels the iron creak under her forearms.

The world is awash in red; the peony moon, they had called it, so similar to the crimson flower that bloomed throughout the planet. Once the invasions had started, though, it had adopted a name closer to the carnage.

Daruk doesn't move, his head turned towards her even as rivulets of blood streak down his arms and torso. 

"Why do you live on?" he whispers, his voice hoarse. "Why is it you? I had  _ family _ , Minerva. I had a wife and child."

They had both died during the collapse of the capital, their bodies sticking out of the rubble. 

"I know," she says instead, and hears the tower screech. The deck tips dangerously to the right, forcing her to put more weight on the railing. It snaps from under her, and she is falling.

Daruk falls with her, painting the crimson sky even darker with his blood. He's saying something she can't make out; the tower is coming undone above them, raining metal and debris as it collapses with an ear-deafening screech. There is screaming (was it the people inside? the people below?  _ her? _ ), so much screaming and it's just like before, just like all those years ago when she told them to fight and doomed them all and it's all her fault, all of it is her fault and she's so, so, so-

She wakes up when she hits the water.

\---

He's awake at 2 AM.

This time he doesn't hesitate; he rolls out of bed, heads to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. He pours two cups, and leaves one in the kitchen.

It takes all of twenty minutes for Minerva to come out to the balcony. They stand together, side by side, looking down at the Monongahela forest. 

She doesn't say anything; they'd already talked about their days, however stilted, over omelet rice. She clasps the lavender tea he'd left for her, and for now that is enough.

"Where did your people go?" He says a time later. "When they died."

She glances down at him, her eyes dark. When she speaks, there's a cynical edge to her voice. 

"We believed in reincarnation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am open for prompts for both TAZ Balance AND Amnesty on tumblr (extra-plus-ordinary)


End file.
